


Sheela Na Gig

by Fluffyllama (Llama)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-16
Updated: 2010-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Fluffyllama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ginny was little she’d always been able to wrap her two biggest brothers around her little finger. He’d always expected the effect to wear off, but apparently it never had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sheela Na Gig

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hamimifk (BatchSan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatchSan/gifts).



It was an accident the first time he saw them. He can’t even remember why he was in the area, only a stone’s throw and a whole world from Diagon Alley, just that the heavy thump, thump, thump of the music drew him in from the street.

It was raining, he remembers that much. Wet pavements glittered empty, streetlights buzzed and flickered between him and the cars sending up sprays of water over his boots. When drops started falling yet again on his head, it seemed fate that the steps down into that warm, tempting basement were right there.

The beer was crappy and overpriced, but he was thawing out before he even got his hands on it, just from the quick blast of the heaters in the doorway and the press of too many bodies in a tight space. He hadn’t been so close to another body in… well, it had been a while. His face glowing and his skin clammy under his damp shirt, he rubbed his hand over the back of his head, grateful he kept his hair short so it wasn’t dripping wet down his back, not like—

Not like the girl over there.

Just the right build, strong and athletic, confident in her movements. Just the right hair flying loose as she danced; that amazing hair that might have been red in daylight or not, but certainly was in here, and that would do. And the man pinned close against her, moving with her, one hand on her neck. He could barely see her face, couldn’t see the man’s face at all, but that just made it better—she was perfect.

No. _They_ were perfect.

And he wasn’t sure what it said about him that he was stupidly, ridiculously turned on by their closeness, their casual touches. By the press of thigh to groin as the man backed her up against the wall, by the hand sliding up her skirt, not nearly enough obscured or revealed through the thinning crowd as the music slowed the hours away and his heartbeat raced.

When the lights went up he was watching the girl kiss slowly along the man’s jaw line. Her eyes were closed, her arms tight around him and her face half-buried in his neck, and he’d lost track of where the man’s hand had got to but from the thrust and jerk of her hips it wasn’t hard to work out. The harsh light was unforgiving on the tatty walls and the litter-strewn floor, but they, he thought, ducking behind a pillar to watch them untangle from each other-- they still looked beautiful.

Maybe even more so, because yes, the girl’s hair was exactly the shade of red he’d imagined. And so, he realised with a shock, finally getting a good look at him, was the man’s.

***

“Set the table, Ginny love,” Molly said while Charlie was wiping his boots. “We’re all here now.”

Ginny sighed, but she let go of Bill’s arm rather than making good on her threat to keep it twisted behind his back until he gave in.

Bill stretched his arm out from his shoulder and grimaced. “I thought Quidditch made your legs strong, not your arms,” he said, grinning at Charlie. “But baby sis gives as good as she gets these days.”

There was a gleam in Bill’s eye, something Charlie had never seen before. Was he—no, there was no way. Charlie just stared, at least until Bill thumped him on the shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked. “You look like you were hit by a Stunner.”

“Just one of those mornings,” Charlie said, and forced out a grin. “Come on, looks like lunch is ready.”

“Ah yes, family Sunday lunch for the sad singles, the recently-divorced and the terminally unlucky in love. Where would we be without it?”

Charlie supposed he must be the sad single, as Ginny’s disasters were becoming legendary by now, but he couldn’t help noticing Bill seemed remarkably cheerful about his own failed marriage these days. When had that changed?

He really needed to keep a better eye on his big brother.

***

He tried to put it out of his mind, he really did.

He wasn’t a voyeur, wasn’t a pervert. He wasn’t remotely kinky, you could ask anyone. He wasn’t the type to spend night after night thinking about a girl he couldn’t have, however perfect she might be.

He wasn’t the type to imagine where _that man’s_ fingers had been, or how they might feel on his cock instead of between a girl’s ( _that girl’s_ ) thighs. He wasn’t the type to stroke himself to thoughts of his own thicker, coarser fingers making the girl gasp, squeezing and rubbing and slipping inside that welcoming warmth.

And he certainly wasn’t the type who would feel his heart speed up, feel the tide of orgasm start to wash over him, thinking of those long fingers, those hands on her smooth, innocent flesh, while he could only watch through the press of the crowd, or maybe peer through the crack of a window or door.

For the eighth night in a row he leaned his head against the cool tiles of his shower while the water washed away the evidence that he was exactly that type of man.

***

“I don’t think you get out enough, Charlie,” Ginny said the following Sunday lunchtime.

It was just the five of them again, as it had been most Sundays since Bill moved out of the cottage and Ginny’s flatmate had a new boyfriend round all the time. She’d been talking about finding her own place for months, but somehow it hadn’t happened.

Charlie’s hand stilled over the roast potatoes. “I get out,” he said. “You don’t know what I do.”

“Go anywhere last night?” she asked, raising her eyebrows, and he scowled at her. It wasn’t funny. She had no idea how much time he’d had to spend in the shower, how much cold water it had taken to keep him at home.

“Gin and I go out every Saturday night,” Bill said. “You should come with us. We have fun.”

“And sleep half the day away on Sunday, the pair of you,” Molly added, but her voice was fond.

After Ginny thrashed them both at Quidditch practice (not that it was a fair contest, she was a _professional_ now) Charlie took the shower last, and hesitated outside Ginny’s room on the way back down. The door was open, just enough, and there were low voices coming from inside.

He stepped forward, hitting the creakiest floorboard in the house -- something of a marvel, but he always suspected Ginny had been given this room for a reason -- and the door swung open immediately.

Ginny was still only wearing a towel, even though she’d claimed the bathroom first. Her hair was dark and wet, clinging to her neck and shoulders, where her freckles stood out in greater relief than normal.

Behind her, Bill half-sat, half-lounged on her bed. He must have got dressed before he was properly dry, was Charlie’s first thought, because there were damp patches on his shirt and jeans, more than he’d have from just damp hair, even hair as long as his.

It shouldn’t be, but it was kind of awkward. Really, there was no reason. They’d all grown up in this house together, after all. He searched for something to say, then the towel slipped, just a little, and he saw the huge purple bruise on her thigh.

“That looks painful,” he said, nodding at it. “Dangerous game, Quidditch.”

Bill shifted his legs and settled further back on the bed, but he didn’t say anything. Charlie wondered what he was waiting for.

Ginny ran one hand down to the bruise but kept her eyes on Charlie. The towel slipped further without both hands holding on to it, until she was holding it against her chest and only her front was covered. Barely that. He kept his eyes firmly on the bruise.

He heard Bill shift again on the bed behind her, but Charlie avoided looking at him.

“You know me,” she said finally, a hint of amusement in her voice, and maybe something more. “I’ve never been interested in playing it safe.”

***

He didn’t mean to go back there.

He didn’t mean to follow them either, but he’d only been there a few minutes before they were weaving their way to the exit, and it hadn’t been long enough. Not nearly long enough.

It only took two turns to lose sight of the main road, just high walls, tall iron gates and the echo of late night traffic. A single streetlight cast a glow from somewhere on the other side of the gates, leaving shadows deep and treacherous against the walls.

They were there somewhere, but he couldn’t see them. Not until—

“You followed us,” the girl said, stepping into the light. Her shirt was unbuttoned, swinging loose on one side. He tried not to look, not to notice the swell of her breast just visible beyond the buttons and _how she seemed to be wearing nothing underneath it, oh god._ “Good.”

“First things first.”

The man’s voice came from a shadow to his right, almost close enough to feel the breath against his ear. He jumped and the man laughed softly.

“We should introduce ourselves.”

“I’m…” The girl shook her hair back, and seemed to come to a decision. “I’m Gillian.”

The voice in the shadows gave nothing away when he spoke up again. “You can call me Ben.”

“Chris,” he said, after a moment. He tried to imagine himself as a Chris. What would this Chris do, what would he say? It wasn’t really him, but that was kind of the point. Maybe he should have gone with Clive?

“Now, I know why _we’re_ here.” Ben’s voice was still soft, not confrontational. “But why are _you_ here, Chris?”

It wasn’t an invitation. It could be, but it wasn’t yet. Perhaps it would depend what he said next; perhaps it wouldn’t make any difference.

Why was he there?

“I—“ he swallowed, hard. “I want to watch.”

Not that he didn’t want to touch too, after what he’d seen, what he’d thought. Wanting and doing were a million miles apart though, and he was still catching up here. Still had a hell of a long way to go.

“I can work with that,” Gillian said, and let her skirt slide to the ground.

He didn’t stop himself from looking this time. He didn’t move though; couldn’t move, or so it seemed. It might have broken the spell.

Ben, it seemed, had no such problem. For every step Gillian took back, every step closer to the light that shone over the gates, he took one forward, his strides more than matching hers until she was pressed, bare flesh except for the half-worn shirt, against the cool, gleaming metal bars. She spread her arms wide and laughed, gripped the bars and thrust her hips out.

It was better than he’d imagined. So much better, even with the crappy lighting that was too dim for a clear view, too harsh for details. But it was real, and Ben, he was going to put his hands on her, had his hands on her, pushing the shirt aside, and not for his own benefit because he surely had a perfectly good view where he was.

It was all for him, watching from the sidelines.

It was a show. The careless brush of her hair from her forehead, the way his hands moved so slowly down her body, fingers spread wide so as not to obscure a nipple here, a sharp line of hip there. He let his eyes follow Ben’s hands, caress and worship just a second behind, as if he was just as responsible for the way she moved into the touch, the way she moaned loud in the silent night air.

When Ben fell to his knees, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He backed himself against the wall, fumbling with his jeans, one hand shoving deep inside to stroke and rub, his eyes fixed on where those big hands held the girl’s thighs apart for a long moment that seemed to stretch on and on. He drank the sight in, captured the memory of the light glinting off red-golden hair, the shape and shadows of her belly, the swell of flesh where Ben’s thumb was starting to rub.

He thought he couldn’t get enough of it, just that sight alone-- but then Gillian’s fingers twisted in Ben’s hair, and his mouth slammed against her hard, working immediately as she writhed and twisted to get lips, tongue, maybe even teeth just where she needed them, and this, this was what he wanted to see forever. There was no show now, just need gripping them both, desperate need, and they’d forgotten he was even there yet somehow it was _better_ that way.

She pulled Ben to his feet, and his hand sped up on his cock, because Ben was naked from the waist down now, and almost as beautiful as Gillian. He knew what would happen before he saw it; felt her strong legs as if it was him they wrapping around, squeezed his hand tighter and felt her muscles clamping down on his cock, felt the weight of her under his hands.

When he came, he was watching them kiss.

***

“Ginny said you went out last night, Charlie,” Arthur said when they were all tucking into Molly’s homemade plum pudding and custard.

“Oh,” Charlie said, startled. “Yeah. I tagged along.”

“Don’t worry Dad, we’ll make him have more fun.” Ginny poured the tea and passed a large mug over to Charlie. “We really need to see more of him, don’t we Bill?”

Bill grinned. “Definitely. A _lot_ more.”

What was Bill now, Ginny’s straight man? When Ginny was little she’d always been able to wrap her two biggest brothers around her little finger. He’d always expected the effect to wear off, but apparently it never had. Not for either of them.

Maybe it was time to fight back.

“You might have to do without me next Saturday night,” Charlie said. Oh now _that_ was fun, the way they both looked at him. Perhaps he would let them see more of him. One day.

“Busy are you?” Bill asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe. “ Charlie sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I was thinking I might invite some new friends over to my place. I don’t think you know them – Ben and Gillian.”

“A couple?” Ginny leaned forward and he felt a small, stockinged foot rest gently against his leg. “Won’t you feel a bit left out?”

A second later, another foot nudged into ankle right next to it. It was heavier, but no less gentle where it pressed against him.

Charlie smiled. It felt like the first time in a while. Maybe that was enough fighting back for now.

“Not with them,” he said, and pressed right back.


End file.
